Why I Spend My Life in the Lost and Found

Sometimes I wish I could staple items directly to my children’s foreheads so I could have some hope of seeing the stuff again. How is it that a compulsively organized planner like myself managed to spawn two of the most scatterbrained human beings ever conceived?

Here’s a brief rundown of the fun we’ve had just in the past couple months:

Justin came home from a trip to the pool holding a) a towel and b) a plastic bag with nothing in it. No goggles, no swim shorts. Both were eventually located in the pool’s lost and found (which is so abundant that they actually divide the stuff into different boxes for each day of the week.)

Brayden’s student planner hasn’t been seen for two weeks. He’s been writing me important notes on scraps of crumpled notebook paper, not all of which remain intact enough to read.

Justin lost his towel on a school winter camping trip. (This is his signature move: he left his towel at summer camp four years in a row.) Before I even knew it was missing, one of the parent chaperones said she’d found a towel and asked if it was ours. I was not at all surprised that she came to me first.

Brayden lost his swim shorts on a class trip despite his own father being along as chaperone. The shorts were eventually discovered on the floor of his classroom, right under the shoes that were supposed to be up on a shelf. Sigh.

One of Justin’s snack bowls is permanently AWOL. I’m fairly sure it disappeared into the abyss that is his school desk, but by this point I no longer want to see it. Or smell it.

So when Brayden came out of the pool change room today, I asked if he had everything. I specifically asked about his swim shorts (see above), socks (cause he refuses to put them on again after swimming), and underwear (don’t ask). He got all offended and swore everything was in his bag.

At that exact moment, Justin opened the door of the change room and tossed out Brayden’s goggles.